


Parting Kiss

by Syllis



Series: Kisses [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Shut Up Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Relationships: Ahtar (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s)
Series: Kisses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681696
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: OC Kiss Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mimosa-supernova (FourCatProductions)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/gifts).



“Why’n hell you call me down here?” Ahtar wanted to know. His hand moved to rub the still-tender scar on his face, and he jerked it away, irritable. He looked the two guards over.

“Irgnar, right?” 

The new guy nodded, a bit apprehensive. Nord, young, copper-blond and a chip knocked out of his right front tooth. Ahtar’s eyes noted the details just as automatically as his hands double-checked his weapons, dagger at his side and short-axe at his back. This kid had a brother on second watch, Hrodnar, that was it.

“And Lucius.” Ahtar sighed, unhappy. “What exactly about this situation didja think warranted wakin’ me up? I finally get a day shift for a change, and next thing you know--”

The Imperial looked a bit sheepish. “Ah--” he began. “There’s this drunk Redguard and we can’t seem to get him to--”

“Yeah, I see what it is. You got a Redguard cuttin’ up down here, your first thought is--” Ahtar jerked a thumb at himself.

“No, ah-”

“Cause if he’s not speaking the speak, ain’t nothing I can do about it,” Ahtar said. “I sure don’t speak Yoku or whatever-the-fuck. I got brought up in Cyrodiil, same’s you did. Any more assumptions you wanna make to my face, while I’m down here?”

The man’s head drooped. “No, Captain.”.

“Ain’t captain anymore,” said Ahtar, though he wasn’t displeased by the slip. “Just another shift-commander like you.” They came around the corner and he saw what his-- well, no longer his-- guardsmen had been dealing with. Ahtar felt a little bad, having made a few too many assumptions of his own, but what the fuck ever, Lucius was too cocky; he needed some regular knocking-down.

“Ah, shit, that’s gonna be a treat, isn’t it?” said Ahtar, gazing upwards. “Anybody down here know the guy at all? What’s his name?”

“It’s Jal,” one of the whores reported. “Says he’s having a bad day.”

“Gonna be a worse day, he doesn’t get down from there before he falls down,” said Ahtar. That canvas awning sagged ominously, and to Ahtar’s eye, it looked plenty threadbare.

“I don’t think he can get down. It’s too far from the side to just drop down into the water. Poles are really flimsy. And he won’t talk to us,” said Lucius. “He just keeps singing songs in that weird language.”

Ahtar gave him another look. “It’s Yoku,” he began, but there was no point. “Get back to work. I got this.”

The skin on his arm and shoulder instantly reminded Ahtar that he wasn’t supposed to be lifting anything heavy. Tired of giving into the pain, he ignored it. Once he’d dragged a few East Empire crates close enough to the shop-stall, he began stacking them. Then he climbed up.

Being as tall as an Altmer had its advantages and disadvantages. Whenever a cat got into a tree, someone came to get Ahtar. And now this.

“Hi. You are really fucking stupid,” said Ahtar.

The would-be bard’s mouth had dropped open, but he recovered instantly. “Better than really fucking ugly.”

Now that did sting. Ahtar’s grimace tugged at the scar, jolting him with that lightning-hot flash of agony. He forced himself to relax. Getting angry wasn’t going to help. 

Up close, he could make up details, even in the dim light of the moons. Youthful, lithe, with a little scar across the nose that served as no more than an accent to warn of future mischief. Braids knotted back behind his head. Rings at his ears, his nose; and was that a bead glinting on an earring or a drop of sweat? There was a big square-sided bottle in his hand.

“Well,” Ahtar said, mildly. “All I gotta do is wait around. You probably ain't gonna get smarter. And you’re gonna get way more ugly than me soon, cause once you fall asleep you’ll wake up as a pile of pink slush on Solitude dockside. Name’s Jal, right? I gotta figure out what to put down in the logbook when we come and scrape you up.”

Jal scoffed. “Not gonna happen.”

Ahtar looked him over. “Mhm. If you ain’t got skooma up there with ya--”

Jal bristled.

“Prob’ly happen in a half-hour,” Ahtar judged. “Hey. Got anymore of that brandy?”

When he reached up, Jal reflexively offered. 

Ahtar took a pull. “Thanks.” 

He chucked the bottle away out over Solitude Harbor. Sure as shit, Ahtar wasn’t gonna try to juggle both a drunk man and his drink.

“Hey!” Jal exclaimed, bouncing up to his feet. The fabric of the awning shifted and gave under him as he suddenly realized how sober he wasn’t, and when he sank back onto it, there was an audible ripping noise.

“Yeah, few weak spots there,” said Ahtar. “Sunlight rots the cloth out. You, ah, want some help there?”

Jal’s eyes were wider now, with terror. He was a good twenty feet up off the ground, maybe more if you counted the walkways below the quay. One of the securings tore free and the awning roof dropped another couple of inches. The flimsy supports of the canopy bowed even further under his weight, swaying. Jal reached again for the bottle that wasn’t there.

“You fucking prick. That was mine!” Jal went straight from fear to outrage to tears; he was outright sobbing like a baby.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll buy you another,” Ahtar kept his voice calm. “Quit bitchin’ and cryin’. Here. No, not like that. Lean forward and put your hands on my shoulders. Relax, I got you. Don’t try to help. Agh! Careful, skin there’s tender. Just let me do it. Then we’re gonna walk down these boxes nice and easy. Just like walkin’ down stairs.”

“Okay,” said Ahtar, amused, because Jal’s head was still pressed against his shoulder and those long legs were locked around his waist. “See, we’re walkin’ on the ground now. You can let go.” 

When Jal did so, his knees sort of collapsed, and he was sitting on the dock, blinking. At least the whores were grateful, there was clapping and a couple of ragged cheers. 

“Thanks, Ahtar, he’d’ve been pissing down on us next.” A gap-toothed smile as the Breton grinned. “Pretty good show.”

“Yeah, yeah, if we’re such grand entertainment run and get us some water, will ya Sabine?” 

Ahtar put his arm back under Jal’s shoulders and urged him over towards a building-wall conveniently near the sewer grate, because he was pretty sure of what was going to happen next.

He was not wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

A low groan.

Ahtar wandered over to take a look.

“Where--” 

“Oh, yeah, you’re in the jail,” said Ahtar. “Steward came by already, but you was too out of it to listen. Drunk’n’disorderly, trespass to business property, an’ creatin’ a public health hazard, attempt.”

Jal squinted at this last. “What?”

“Getting yourself dead ain’t a crime, last I checked,” Ahtar said. “Steward can’t charge you for flirtin’ with suicide, or for bein’ a dumbass-- but he can charge you with this. Would’ve cost a few man-hours to get the dock cleaned up, and it puts the street ladies off their business. How the fuck you get up there?”

Jal was rubbing his face. “Jumped down,” he said. “From the city wall.” He sniffed again, and grimaced. “What’s that smell?” He looked horrified.

“You’re lucky you didn’t fuckin’ miss,” said Ahtar. “And you’re in a jail, not a flower shop. It ain’t here to smell good.” He stood up. “Anyways. You want a statement of your charges and wergeld, or do you wanna go back to puking and moaning?”

Since Jal’d already made up his mind on that one, and Ahtar didn’t feel like sticking around to watch, he got up from his chair and ambled back to his working room, to assess the condition of the machines and tools there. The ‘blood’ was beginning to dry up and flake off; he made a note to go back up to the Thalmor Embassy and get some more from Rulindil before the end of the month. He checked the cabinet; the ropes were all neatly coiled. The floor in the working room was perfectly clean, thanks to Ahtar’s nephew Marcus. Marcus couldn’t stay out of trouble long enough for Ahtar’s floor to get dirty. Except for when Ahtar was working.

Ahtar tried very hard not to think about that kind of work. He went back to his office to read a bit.

Every now and then he stuck his head out to make sure his prisoner was alright. Miserable, sure, but alright.

A couple of hours later, Jal had settled down, and the cells themselves were clean enough, so Ahtar picked a likely one and laid down on the cot. He’d better be close by, just in case. He hadn’t bothered telling the poor guy that he’d managed to shit himself. He was pretty sure Jal would figure that out by morning.

“How much?” said hollow-eyed Jal in the morning.

“Hundred and sixty septims,” said Ahtar. “Wergeld’s owed just to the city, no one got hurt. Pay it off or work it off?”

Jal groaned. “I think my money went to drink. Did… did anyone happen to see my belongings?”

“Only thing you had with you was a bottle of brandy. Cheap shit, too.” Ahtar went to go get a stack of clean rags, and a bucket of hot water. “Here,” he said, returning. “Just go use that other cell. Be easier than me tryin’ to clean up around you.”

He went back out for the bucket of sawdust and the broom. Mila would be in a bit later, but this wasn’t a job Ahtar was gonna wish on Castle Dour’s maid-of-work.

“Hey!” called Jal. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He gestured at the cell door, still swung open.

Ahtar raised a brow. “Didn’t figure you for a dumbfuck. You can walk around in here. You go out that door to the upstairs--” he pointed-- “that’s escape. Escape has real consequences.” He pointed again, this time to the working room where the rack and the Little-Ease cages could be seen.

Jal nodded.

“Privy’s that room over there. I got some hardtack and posca in the dayroom, if you think you can handle it. Prob’ly be the best thing for ya. Don’t make more of a mess.” 

Ahtar went and found the soap and chucked it down next to the rags. Then he went up to Castle Dour’s office to see if Jorluf needed any help with the night’s logs.

“Morning, Cap--” Jorluf caught himself. “Ahtar.” They were peers now.

“‘S alright,” said Ahtar, seating himself. “Anything fun? Didn’t look like it. Just the acrobat I got downstairs.”

“He any trouble?” Jorluf asked.

“Naw, he’s keeping himself busy washing out his pants in the jail bucket,” said Ahtar. “Anyone bring in any packs or satchels off the street, from dockside?”

Jorluf snorted. Some whore or beggar had got a windfall, they knew.

“Am I off shift now, or on?” Ahtar wanted to know. “Got about two hours in last night; unless you count bein’ up and down with the big baby.” 

Jorluf grunted. “Four hours over sound fair?”

“Yeah,” said Ahtar, as Jorluf marked it down. It wasn’t like Captain Aldis was gonna come down and double-check anytime soon. Aldis hadn’t been inside Castle Dour in three months. Too busy showing off his new title.

“Want something to eat?” Ahtar wanted to know. “Gonna go get somethin’ from the wife. Might be a minute. Running up to the house.”

\--

“Hey,” said Ahtar. “Less you’re really attached to those clothes, you might want to just give up, cause you did a pretty good job.” He held up the shirt, tunic, and trews for Jal to see, and hung them over the chair back. “Couple pairs of smallclothes here, wasn’t sure about the fit.”

“Thanks,” said Jal, sighing as if his head still hurt. “It’s my boots that are the real disaster.” 

“Yeah,” said Ahtar. “Let me ask around.” He paused to look at the size of the man’s feet. Oh, and: “We didn’t find your stuff. Sorry.”

Jal nodded.

“You read?” Ahtar didn’t wait for a response, he just tossed the book onto the cot. “Fuck-all else to do down here. At least we got lanterns. When you feel up to pushing a broom, speak up. Steward Falk lets you work off the money here, long as nobody got hurt.”

Jal was still holding his head, so Ahtar doubted much reading would get done. Still. Boring as fuck down here by yourself. He checked the water-butts-- they’d need filling, soon-- and wandered back up to the armory to help the clerk out for a bit. Whatever he could do, just to kill the time.


	3. Chapter 3

Jal was sitting at Ahtar’s office table playing patience. The rain outside was hammering down and there was no public service work that could be done today. Plenty tomorrow, what with gutters and drains needing to be raked clean.

Ahtar had found the time to run a few errands here and there around Castle Dour. Nothing that meant having to go outside. “Hey,” he said, returning. “You didn’t happen to see--” 

Just then Marcus ducked his way through the doorway under Ahtar’s arm, his arms full of a basket wrapped in waxed cloth. He set it on the table and pushed his hood off, shaking it out before turning to hang it up on the peg.

“Thanks, kid,” said Ahtar, who unwrapped it to start sorting his lunch out from amongst the jail provisions.

Jal had got quiet. He didn’t move to put down a card, either.

“Something the matter?” Ahtar asked him.

Ahtar turned back to Marcus: “You got a problem?” 

His nephew put up both hands: peace. He backed away out of the room, a dramatic exit spoiled only when he had to dart back in to grab up his hood.

“Well,” said Ahtar, after a few moments. “Let me guess. You ain’t been in Solitude much, so I’m gonna say… Riften?” He pulled the chair out and sat down, rubbing his forehead. 

“You could say that, yeah.” Jal seemed more wary.

Ahtar could just about read his mind. Here the poor guy was, in a jail, talking to a senior guardsman, and…

“That’s my nephew. And Thieves’ Guild’s got nothin’ to worry about here. Dues are paid. You don’t got no worries, either,” said Ahtar. “Unless you’re fond of that piece of shit Vekel. Next time you get back there, tell him that I’m gonna kick his ass from that sewer of his all the way to Morrowind, ‘cause when I set somebody a task, I expect to see it done.” 

He pushed one of the apple tarts over towards Jal and bit into the other, pastry flaking apart over his hand. “I told him to look after that kid, not let him run off skooma-whoring. His own brother, too.”

Jal coughed, a bit awkwardly. He hadn’t moved to take the pastry.

“You ever run into Marcus, down that way?” Ahtar’d asked too casual-like; he knew right away that he wasn’t gonna get an answer, though the aggrieved look the man shot him suggested that yes, he and Marcus had met.

“Marcus owe you money?” 

Jal was silent.

“Steal or fuck up something you care about?”

Jal remained silent. He made no move towards the other apple tart.

“Suit yourself,” Ahtar said, taking the pastry. “I got a double shift coming up, so I’m goin’ downstairs to my room to take a nap. If someone comes looking, tell the guys that’s where I’m at.” 

Ahtar didn’t bother speculating about what Marcus had done. No point. And he thought maybe Mila would appreciate a treat, so he gave the extra apple tart to her.

\--

Ahtar slowly backed down the stairs, a water-cask tucked under each arm. He stopped. Voices.

“I’m telling you now, you little shit-- Say one word, yeah, I’m...”

Marcus’ response was too soft to be distinct.

Jal’s voice was rising, frustrated. “Do I look like I’m made of money, sitting in here?” 

Ahtar tried to walk silently. Not easy with so much weight.

“No! I’m not going to owe you any favors!” Jal was getting angry.

Maybe Ahtar ought to lock Jal down, for his own protection. He turned sideways to get through the narrow door, and set the water-casks down with care.

Marcus was sitting on the edge of one of the cots and swinging his legs, happy as can be. “Yes, you will.”

Jal was at the other end of the cell, looking harassed.

“Hey!” Jal called out to Ahtar. “I’m tired of being out on release! Is there someplace I can go to be locked up?”

Ahtar looked from him to the bars and back again: already in a jail. He motioned at Marcus, who got up to let himself be shooed out.

“Can he be locked up?” Jal looked hangdog as all shit. “Away from me? No!” he told Marcus. “No favors.”

“Guess it’s story time.” Marcus was all grins and malice. “So, this one time Vex comes to me and asks, can I help her figure out where the Rift Guard stores its--”

“Fuck you!” Jal lunged at Marcus. 

Marcus neatly stepped back and, using his foot, swung the cell door closed. Its lock clicked shut, and there was Marcus, looking smug, just out of reach of Jal on the other side of the bars.

Marcus made a big show of taking a breath to start over: “Vex asks--”

“Fine, you prick!” Jal cried. “I owe you one.”

Marcus performed that annoying-as-hell bow he’d learned from some bard, and made his exit. A better show of it, this time.

Silently, Ahtar went back to the office, got the key, and unlocked Jal’s cell. “Sorry ‘bout that. He don’t need to come back down while you’re here.”

Jal was sitting on the cot now, head in his hands. “It’s not like I care if you know,” he said. “It’s just--” he moistened his lips and made a despairing gesture. Talk, talk, talk all over town.

Ahtar waved him quiet. "Don't bother. It's always Marcus. He makes trouble. And his idea of a good secret's always some shit that don't need to be made known."

Jal gave a soft groan of agreement.

Ahtar cleared his throat, because there was something else: “Listen. I got a bad one coming in, my wife says they’re waiting for harbor clearance right now. Some murderer from Dawnstar, guess Jarl Skald wants it done up special. So. You want to go stay down in the cellar here, or over at my house till this is finished? Cause trust me, you’re not gonna want to be around while this goes on.”

Jal was quiet.

“Yeah, about that.” Ahtar cleared his throat. “I’m not just Head Jailor; I’m the executioner here in Solitude. Head torturer too. Well, the only torturer, I guess, unless you count the work we ship off to the elves.”

“Stay in your house?” Jal said, painfully, like his world’d been turned upside down and given a shake.

“Cellar’s not that bad, if you’d rather.” It was where Ahtar normally slept. “But it’ll get a little-- ah. No privy. You’d have to keep yourself down there a couple of days and not leave. And if you stayed up here you’d have to be locked in a cell. If you was up at my house you could still report in to work. My wife’d feed ya. And you wouldn’t have to listen to the goings-on here. It-- ah. It can get pretty bad.”

Jal considered all this: “Your nephew lives in your house, right?”

“Eh, won’t be so awful,” Ahtar promised. “When Marcus knows he’s got one up on you, he’ll leave you alone. An’ you’ll be gone during the day and he’s always out all night, no matter what I got to say about it.”

Jal raised a brow.

“Can’t stop him. Legally he’s an adult, even if it is gonna take him a few more years to grow outta yelling around with his friends and drinking all night and runnin’ up an’ down roofs and walls like some kinda lunatic squirrel-- sorry.” Ahtar fell silent. 

Jal’s head was back in his hands. One of his braids had got out of his ponytail to fall askew. 

Sitting this close, Ahtar could have reached to put it right. He closed his fists in his lap instead. Even brought down to this, there were lines Ahtar didn’t cross.

Jal didn’t seem to like either of the options Ahtar’d given him. He wasn’t saying anything. 

“Hey,” said Ahtar. “I thought of a better idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, there you are,” said Ahtar, surprised. “You doing all right? Getting enough hours in?”

Jal grinned up at him, and moved aside to free up the stairwell. “A hundred and thirty left! And doing just fine, except for constantly looking over my shoulder for Penitus Oculatus.”

“Nah. Nobody goes in Emperor’s tower except for Mila to sweep and dust. Titus Mede sure ain’t fuckin’ sleepin’ there. Kind of a waste, so I thought, why not?”

“This--” Jal was still smiling, teeth and eyes gleaming-bright. “Is a very odd jail.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my jail and I gotta live here, so I keep it the way I like the rest a my life. Quiet.”

And empty, mostly, but Ahtar was trying real hard not to think about that. 

Or about the poor bastard who was still on the table downstairs; die already, you fool. Ahtar was hoping that’s what would happen during this break, but the man probably wouldn’t. Shaking these thoughts off, Ahtar reached into the storeroom to grab the shovel and the rake. He passed them back to Jal.

Jal was still looking confused. “I thought you had a house. And a wife.”

Ahtar stopped. 

But Jal didn’t know. No harm meant. 

Ahtar exhaled through his nose. “Tostig’s waiting on ya. He’s a rules guy. Better get going.”

\--

A couple of days later, Ahtar’s work room was standing bare, the equipment polished clean of every substance; and the floor once-more mopped. He’d even tracked down all the empty bottles and mugs the official observers and the rest of the crowd had left, and got all that cleared up. Just now, he was busy sorting his tools out, to see which might need further polishing or sharpening.

“I figured I’d better report back down here now,” Jal said, putting a satchel down in the cell nearest the office. Since Ahtar’s newest friend’s head was safely on its way back to Dawnstar, Jal meant. “No reason to keep on living the life of an Emperor. Huh.” His nose had screwed up.

The two cells down at the end were full; one of them had two cots and two people in it. Ahtar couldn’t smell anything anymore, not since he’d got burned, but it was a fair bet that the whole dungeon reeked of stale beer and piss. 

“Somebody give you some shoes?” Ahtar asked, cause he’d noticed the lack of rope sandals.

“One of the guards gave them to me. Helped him get the leaves off his roof.” Jal was still looking around and from his face, he was glad he had something better to keep his feet from the floor.

“Don’t worry about those three down the way,” Ahtar said. “We’ll get them outa here in the morning. Might need to clean up a bit. But they got nothing serious, so they’ll be moving on.”

“I can help mop up,” said Jal. “Does working in here count against my tally?” He was frowning at Ahtar, looking concerned. “You all right?” 

Ahtar caught himself; he was rubbing at the scar on his face again, though he shouldn’t mess with it. Might split open again. 

“Nope, not really” Ahtar said. “It’s just this kind of work. Sucks the soul right out of you.”

Jal glanced at Ahtar’s workroom and tipped his head in agreement, his eyes gone darker. “Maybe you should get out of here for a bit. Go for a walk.”

“Think you’re forgettin’ something.” Ahtar touched his cheek again. “Got tired of people looking back at this. ‘Cause you’re right, I’m really fuckin’ ugly.” He let his lips part in a not-smile, till he felt the pain of the scar dragging. “Kids cry.”

Jal winced with his whole body. “I don’t know? Maybe just go home?” To your wife, Jal meant.

“If’n you worked all day long from before dawn till last light, would you wanna go home to this?” Ahtar shook his head, wearily. “She’s always happy to see me, when I come in. Until she turns around.” His shoulders moved. “It ain’t her fault. She don’t want it to be that way, neither. Can’t be helped.”

“Spend more time at home, maybe?” Jal ventured. “I mean, people can get used… to anything?”

“Was home. More than a year, I didn’t go anywhere else.”

Jal didn’t say anything in response.

By his frantic eyes, Ahtar could see that the younger man desperately wanted out of this conversation. So Ahtar stood up.

“So. I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat, up at the Skeever.” Ahtar pointed to the shelf with the rags and the bin of sawdust. “If one of those idiots takes sick, do me a favor and get a bucket over there before we got to clean up worse.”

\--

The jail was full again tonight, but it wasn’t so much drunks as disorderlies. Four Dominion soldiers had already been remanded to the custody of one of their own officers and there were two students and four Old Hold sailors currently grumbling and nursing bruises. Because the Thalmor had gotten involved, Steward Falk was going to have to come down; and sure enough, he came in with Captain Aldis to interview the guardsmen and set wergeld.

Jal was sitting in the nearest cell, virtuously locked up for the night. He was reading Ahtar’s book.

“Who’s that?” Falk wanted to know, once they were in the back. 

“Out of towner,” Ahtar said. “Came in a couple weeks ago, doing work release. He’s ah--” Ahtar moved to check the office ledger, even though he knew very well what Jal was doing. “Been assigned to Tostig. Has him pulling down ivy.”

Now that was an endless, thankless job, stripping ivy down off Solitude’s stone walls. And having a guy who could climb and didn’t mind heights--that was useful. Jal didn’t need or want a scaffold.

Falk grunted. 

“He’s not any trouble,” Ahtar added. “Just about ready to go to half time. If he had a place to stay, local, we’d have cut him loose already.”

“Elves don’t want a scene,” Falk advised. “They’re willing to waive off any wergeld that balances out.” He scowled. “They wanted you to work over the rock-throwers but I said no. Their own people cause just as much trouble to ours.”

Which meant three people were going home right now; the two students and the luckless sailors had to wait around for their friends to show up with money. “Can’t you keep me?” the one would-be bard protested, but in the end he got dragged home by his furious mother.

Falk was in no big hurry, so it was late by the time he set aside the quill. “Thane Erikur was looking for you, earlier? Wanted to see if you wanted to do a bit of house-sitting. That little guest-house he has? His tenants are going to be away for a month. It’s all the way down dockside, so it’s too far for his people to be checking it every day.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Look. You have to know I’m a thief.” Jal looked around the tiny dwelling; at its neatly made bed; at the shelf with the dishware and the bottles of mead. “Why are you doing this?”

Ahtar nodded. “Don’t know who Thane Erikur is? He’s the local Thieves’ Guild contact. So go on an’ steal from him if you want to shit your own nest. Also his housecarl’s a battlemage, and I hear they can hurt you real bad before you die. Assuming they let you die, which I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

“I got it, I got it.” Jal was prowling around, opening cupboards and chests. 

“So, since you ain’t got traveling money, it’s time for us to have you go half time. Half your earnings go to wergeld; the other half you keep. See Tostig every day about your hours an' your assignment. Pay’s doled out every Fredas at the armory counter.” He looked over the rudimentary kitchen. “If you’re up at the market, my wife sells some premade mealstuff; if not, the shack at the end of that dock--” he pointed-- “sells soup and bread an’ so on.”

“Why are you doing this?!”

“Oh, it ain’t just me,” Ahtar said. “For some reason the Guild didn’t want to hand money over to you, but they sure did spread the word. Wanted us to help you out.” He fished in a pouch and handed over the key to the shack. “Tostig said he’ll meet you up at the west tower at dawn.”

\--

Ahtar was sitting on the low bench built into the towers that topped the city wall, drenched with sweat, breathing heavily. He hated his skin and the way that it pulled and dragged and burned every time he moved wrong. He hated the weak, loose-flabby feel of his muscles. But most of all, he hated that he still didn’t have his wind back, even though he’d been running the walls every morning for weeks now. He gave himself a few more minutes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Then he was gonna get up and take another couple of laps, cause he was never going to get better if he didn’t push it. 

There was a sort of scrabbling noise near him and then Jal popped his head up over the edge of the wall. “Oh! Hey.” 

Jal pressed himself up with his arms and just that easily swung his legs over the ledge, ending up in a low crouch. No rope, no tools with which to grip, just a bit of cloth wrapping his hands.

Ahtar just shook his head at this insanity, but he didn’t comment.

“I wanted to thank you.” Jal paused. “Wait. I was going to start off by saying that I know you’re a liar, but that never goes so well, does it?” There he was again, dark eyes reflecting the sun back just as blinding as that grin.

Ahtar snorted.

“Yeah. The Guild’s never said a thing about me and even these?” Jal showed off his shoes. “You had something to do with that, didn’t you? Hroki finally admitted it.”

Ahtar shrugged. “Winter gets here sooner than you think.” His voice shifted to less-friendly. “You need something else?”

“No-- ah. I was just… Um. About my hours?”

“Gettin’ back to my run.” Ahtar stood up. “Go see Tostig or Jorluf about all that; they can write it in the book same’s I can. So you don’t need to look for me.” 

With that dismissal, he took off. In three strides, he was back on that long looping route that would take him way out past the Blue Palace; the long, long stretch that ran along the Sea of Ghosts.

\---

When he’d seen Jal in the marketplace, Ahtar had immediately manufactured an errand. Ahtar took the crate of apples into his house for Jala and set it down. He grabbed one of his books and headed back out to lock up. 

Jal was standing there, halfway up his steps.

“Guess you don’t know how to listen,” Ahtar said.

Jal did not move.

Rather than push his way by, Ahtar vaulted from the stair landing down onto the road. Less gracefully than he used to, cause the shock of it rolled through him, and the wave of pain from his arm and back was enough to cause his vision to go black and his hearing to go all distant for a moment.

“...what I meant to tell you-- you idiot-- is that I was finished. Jorluf let me go yesterday; released me, everything. I don’t owe anymore wergeld-- I’m free to leave Haafingar.”

“Guess you’re on your way back home then.” Ahtar folded his arms, projecting indifference. “Some reason you got to follow me around, just to tell me that?”

“Because you still owe me something?”

Ahtar scowled at him, because what the fuck was Jal even talking about.

That grin again. “Even with all you gave me, there’s still one thing you owe me. Bottle of brandy. And you know what, I’m staying in that place dockside, and that’s just too much trouble for me to walk that far. Better bring it on down to the house.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jal looked taken aback when he opened the door. Then he waved Ahtar in and latched it shut behind him.

\--

“Sorry, didn’t mean to look all angry at ya,” Ahtar said. There was hardly anyplace to go in this tiny house, so he and Jal were sitting on the rough quilt that covered the bed.

“Yeah?” Jal took the bottle and sampled it. “To me, you always look sad.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when everything goes to shit. Pretty damn good till all this--” Ahtar gestured at the burn. “Last two years’ve been a waste, and that’s what the rest of my life is lookin’ like. Troll lurkin’ in a pit.” He took it back and drank again.

“Could be worse,” Jal said somberly, his eyes shining just a bit too much. “Dead is dead, right? Nowhere to go from there.” Except maybe for off a wall, his expression said.

“What the fuck is in this shit?” Ahtar squinted at the bottle, and then at Jal. “You wanta keep wailin’ and drinkin’ ourselves into Oblivion? Or did ya want me to come all the way down here for somethin’ else?”

“You’re the one sitting here complaining,” said Jal, taking one last drink and setting it aside. “It’s like you didn’t even want to get your dick sucked.”

A couple seconds later, the quilt was on the floor, together with the heap of their clothes, and Ahtar was pressing his head against the smooth driftwood of the headboard to keep himself quiet. Jal was kneeling just to the side of his spread thighs, that clever hand slipping up behind Ahtar’s balls and teasing, as his tongue lapped, quick and light.

When Jal finally engulfed him in wet heat and drew down, Ahtar’s whole back arched, as he panted, silently. He had to force himself to relax the muscles of his face as it kept stabbing him with pain, and not the good kind, either. When Jal did it again, Ahtar’s fingers clenched at the bottom sheet. He moved his hands to clasp the rail of the headboard, praying it would hold up.

Too much too soon, and then--

Jal stopped to look at him. “You all right?”

Ahtar tried to work his jaw. “Face.” Gods, everything made it fuckin’ spasm.

Jal swung a leg over to straddle his chest and hitched himself up. He cupped Ahtar’s cheeks with both hands and wouldn’t you know it, that made Ahtar groan, with the fear of the pain that would be coming next; the sense-memory of the healers forcing loose those locked muscles.

Jal’s eyes darkened. He leaned forward, braids and gold rings swaying down. His lips brushed Ahtar’s forehead, on the good side. 

“What would make this easier?” He dropped another kiss on Ahtar’s parted lips, his tongue licking a quick stripe there. Another kiss, and another, licking at the droplets of wet spilling down.

The pain wasn’t easing up. What the fuck. Why now? Fuck.

Ahtar took Jal’s hand and pressed the flat of his palm against his offending cheek. “Sorry,” he managed. “Give it a moment.”

Jal shifted to lie flat on top of him, keeping his hand in place, its warmth bleeding into Ahtar, soothing that crushing ache. 

Ahtar used that time to rub his palms down Jal’s back, marveling at the lush feel of his skin; at the sleek muscle overlying his fine-boned arms; his shoulders. Jal purred and shifted in an encouraging sort of way, until he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to get them lined up just right and--

Ahtar couldn’t help it, he started to laugh, disrupting the warm pressure on his face. “All these troubles I got, and you’re gonna complain about me being too tall?”

He gasped as Jal sucked a bite into his neck, following up with a hard pinch to his nipple.

“Well, if you’re gonna do all that--” Ahtar’s hand dipped down. If he couldn’t move his head to look at the man’s dick, he could at least jack him off. His hand moved, roughly. Jal whined and bit at him some more, because he couldn’t reach far enough to reciprocate. They threshed about a little, but Jal kept his hand in place, continuing to soothe Ahtar’s face.

“Easin’ up,” Ahtar finally said with relief. “I got an idea. Why don’t you just fuck me? Ought to be less of a problem.”

Jal blinked. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. He slid down off the bed to root around in a drawer. “That’ll work.”

He was cautious about getting started, even apologized for the stuff being cold, but Ahtar didn’t care.

“Don’t need to take your time there. None of that fancy stuff.” He felt Jal’s questing fingers pause. Ahtar drew his knees up and held them, conscious that one of his legs probably weighed as much as Jal did. “If it’s slick, it’s good enough. Come on.”

Jal had to clamber around awkwardly to get in place, and then work himself up again.

Ahtar let his feet slide down to rest more comfortably. “No rush.” He was glad it was still daylight; his eyes could get their fill of Jal. He watched that deft hand moving swiftly; then he let his gaze drift upwards to the perspiration glistening on Jal’s taut belly; on the ripple of his chest muscles as he moved. 

When Jal began to worry at his own lip in concentration, Ahtar felt his heart swell in his chest.

“You don’t gotta worry.” He clasped his own knees again, bringing them up. “Just… go slow.” Jal’s surprised little grunt was worth any amount of discomfort.

“That,” Jal noted. “Was not slow.” 

Ahtar chuckled, driving a quick little smirk out of the man. He couldn’t quite work the muscles of his face to smile yet, so he let his eyes do it for him. Jal grinned right back and that was good, good. 

Ahtar pulled his legs all the way to his chest, letting his hips rock upwards and his breath just roll out of himself in one long slow exhalation. Tempering the burn. Jal was the careful sort, constantly looking up at his face, or tracing over Ahtar’s arm; the undamaged skin of his good shoulder. He fucked as he’d been told, with a slow leisurely rhythm; and every time Ahtar hitched or shuddered Jal slowed it down again.

Jal pulled away, dragging himself upward to press his face against Ahtar’s.

“Want to hear you,” he whispered, flicking his tongue deep.

“Nnh,” Ahtar managed to gasp, bent nearly double. Jal’s full weight as well as half his own on his chest. “No.”

“Bastard.” Jal kissed him again. “Make you beg.” He shoved hard, burying himself to the hilt, and Ahtar’s back arched them both up off the bed before he collapsed back. He grasped at Jal’s bucking hips.

“Too much,” Ahtar husked. With his knees drawn up so far, he was stretched too tight, all of his nerves near the surface, and every stroke lit along his nerves like mage-fire. He slipped his legs up over Jal’s shoulders, loosening himself a bit now, but still holding his own weight.

Jal paused. His hand slipped back between them, squeezing himself to slow down a little. “Salve,” he suggested to himself, and grabbed it, pulling out to slick himself more and shoving home. 

“Put some on my dick.” 

Jal laughed. “Take a look, there’s no need.”

When Ahtar bent his chin, he could see the silver strands of pre-cum lacing their way all the way up his belly, catching against the hairs there. He had been so wrapped up in the rest of it, he hadn’t felt himself leaking. Jal shoved in, deliberately rough for that stroke. Ahtar grunted as that impact struck fire and another couple of driplets popped out of himself.

“You want to watch?” Jal cupped Ahtar’s balls and drew them gently aside. 

Ahtar caught his breath to watch them sliding together. He nearly groaned but caught himself, his nostrils flaring as he controlled himself for two breaths. Fuck! The sight of it was going to break him; Jal’s skin shining darkly wet now, his forehead furrowing in concentration and his own breath panting. He’d been trying to keep himself just as silent as Ahtar, keeping up with him, but every now and then… Ahtar rolled his hips, just to hear that suppressed growl.

He had to fight to keep his own eyelids open and when he did he could feel Jal’s fluttering shut. All of his control was sliding downhill now, every sensation subordinated to that great knot in his belly. Jal was making soft noises now, struggling to hold on; trying to speak but failing. 

“Now! Hard. Stop holding back.” Ahtar let go of his knees, pushing his feet up into the air. Jal grunted with effort, having to push back against the thick-muscled weight of Ahtar’s thighs. Each snap of his hips was a huge flare of pleasure-pain radiating outwards, threatening to set off that of his burn-scars.

Even through blurred vision, Ahtar could see that Jal was biting at his lip again. “Yell,” he panted, trying frantically to slow them down. “You bastard!” The word came out as a half-scream as he arched and pulsed hard. Ahtar’s legs wrapped around his ribs, holding him in place as he stuttered to a halt. “Shit,” Jal muttered.

“Mmm. Stay put.” Now Ahtar had all the time in the world to jerk himself off just the way he liked, though who was he kidding, it was only going to take three-- His back arched again, and Jal whined protest as Ahtar clamped down on him, hard, pulse after pulse after pulse.

After a moment Jal tugged himself loose and just laid on top of him, limbs loose and relaxed. “You made a sound,” he murmured.

Ahtar snorted. “Bullshit. My cum made more noise.”

Jal tried to make a rejoinder, failed; tried again, and fell back into giggles. HIs weight was nothing, spread out over Ahtar’s bulk. 

Ahtar petted him, over and over again. “So beautiful, so fucking beautiful.” He felt like he was gonna cry again, for no reason, with the pleasure still ringing through his body.

Jal propped up on an arm and kissed him, leisurely and long. “Dammit,” Jal said, ruefully.

“That terrible?” 

Jal yawned. “Thought I was gonna get the railing of my life and instead you put me to work. Again.” He scooted over to lie against Ahtar’s side and tuck his head against Ahtar’s good arm.

“Mm.” Ahtar didn’t even bother trying to open his eyes. “Maybe in a couple of weeks.” He yawned in turn. “Or a couple of hours, maybe.”

\--

They did not wake.

Ahtar slept like the dead, no dreams at all, and woke to a stripe of light coming in from the window across his face. 

\--

Jal stayed for a couple more weeks, earning himself traveling money and restocking his supplies. Ahtar would've given it to him, but he said he was in no real hurry and was still exploring the city. Ahtar visited him in the evenings, stopping by the food vendors or Cecile's as an excuse to make the trip. A couple of times Ahtar misgaged the time and had to get up topside in a hurry, while dawn was still streaking the eastern sky. Soon enough Jal had what he needed, and it was time for him to go. Ahtar found him an old pack and helped fill it up for him; hardtack and bottles of posca-syrup and a couple of aged cheeses and some dried fruit. Not much, but enough to get him down to Riften. 

Ahtar shrugged. “Meals always get fucked up along the way. So, there ya go. This stuff’ll keep.”

Jal hesitated. His eyes were a bit too bright again.

“Here,” said Ahtar, and drew Jal off to the side, into the shadowed nook between the Western Watchtower and the old wall. He would have leaned down, but Jal got a handhold on one of the jutting-out rocks and a foothold on Ahtar's knee and just swarmed up, his legs wrapping about Ahtar's waist again, hand gripping the leather pauldron of Ahtar's armor.

"Better," Jal noted, wrapping his legs around Ahtar's waist and hooking his ankles to cling on so tight that Ahtar didn't worry about keeping both hands free. When he cupped Jal's cheek, Jal turned into the touch, his lips parting to draw Ahtar's fingertips and suck at them, hard.

Ahtar grunted.

"Hey. You realize I'm still at work, right?" He pressed Jal back into the wall, letting the wall take some of Jal's weight.

Jal opened his mouth, letting Ahtar's fingers slip loose. "If you weren't at work, it wouldn't be your fingers-- mmmph!" 

Ahtar shut him up with the kiss, delving deep to get the taste of Jal one last time, grabbing at him to pull him closer. They stayed pinned together again till Jal grunted.

"Hmm?" Ahtar moved his face away the barest fraction. "Should probably get down, get yourself on your way."

Jal grinned back at him. He didn't move. 

"Carriage is gonna take off without you on it," said Ahtar, mildly. "Better get moving."

Another kiss, this time to the tip of Ahtar's nose. "Not going anywhere. Not till somebody lets go of my ass."

Ahtar immediately loosened his hands. Jal slid down the wall, laughing merrily. He flicked his braids back into place and bounded towards the gate, with a careless little gesture of farewell. It was a grand exit, spoiled only when he had to come right back. 

Ahtar left off getting his uniform back into place to help Jal search around in the underbrush for his pack, which had tipped over sideways.

"Hey," said Ahtar. "Been fun. Next time I got to go down to Riften to sort out some family shit--"

"Yeah," said Jal. "Guild'll know where I am. Come find me." 

"You happen to wander back through, you know where I'll be. Down in the jail. I figure odd are good, one way or the other, I'll see ya again."

Another grin, and Jal was off.


End file.
